Snowbird Ascendant
by sentinel28
Summary: As the Clans invade the Inner Sphere in summer 3050, a young woman and her friends come of age in a war that leaves no one untouched. Third chapter up! R&R or the Jade Falcons will get you.
1. In Media Res

_ SNOWBIRD ASCENDANT_

_ A Short Story of the Sentinels_

_ By Benjamin Donnelly_

  
  


_AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is the first chapter of an ongoing story. It began as part of a campaign waaaay back in the early 90s, and only recently have I gotten around to writing it. Though it will deviate from Battletech canon in some places, the general timeline of the First Clan War will remain intact. _

_ Inspiration for this series, of course, comes from the fantastic "Blood of Kerensky" series by Michael Stackpole, with some help from Bernard Cornwell's "Sharpe" saga._

_ R&R always appreciated. Enjoy!_

  


_Rasalhague City_

_Rasalhague, Free Rasalhague Republic_

_16 July 3050_

  


"Come on and be damned!" Sheila Arla-Vlata howled over her loudspeakers. If the Clan 'Mechs down the broad avenue heard, they gave no response. Sheila snarled a blasphemy to herself. The Clansmen were not going to attack blindly in piecemeal. And if they attacked in force, they were going to overrun her position. Sheila wasn't sure who she was more angry at—Clan Wolf or the Free Rasalhague Republic.

The FRR had reluctantly asked for help only when the Clans were on the verge of conquering their capital world. The only Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth unit close enough and in decent enough shape was the Sentinels. This had incensed the FRR, who hated mercenaries in general, but Prince Hanse Davion had flatly informed the Rasalhagians that the Sentinels were the only show in town; the Federated Commonwealth had their own problems with the Clans. So the Sentinels had been allowed to come in to FRR space, but enough delays had happened that the Sentinels were only able to land on Rasalhague itself in the closing days of the campaign, which was already lost. The best the Sentinels could do was to help cover the evacuation of what units could and would leave. Worse still, the Sentinels themselves were still reorganizing, trying to recover from their own brush with the Clans on Persistence. Lances were formed ad hoc and sent to the front lines as they could.

Which was why Sheila was leading a lance optimistically dubbed the Clan Eaters, made up of people she had never teamed with before. She counted herself lucky that she knew two of her three lancemates. The BattleMechs stood at what had been a traffic circle near the Capitol District of Rasalhague City. It had already been reduced to rubble by a previous battle. The Kungsarme—the Royal Army—was making Clan Wolf pay for every inch of the city, but sheer determination was not enough. The Wolves were taking casualties, but they were still moving forward. It was now only a matter of time. 

The provisional lance was made up of Sheila and her _Shruiken_, Tooriu Kku and his _Awesome_, and the two _Crusaders_ piloted by Mimi Stykkis and Miko Umcizi. Sheila knew Tooriu and Mimi very well, but Miko was a stranger. All four had combat experience on Persistence, though, and all had heavy 'Mechs. It might be enough.

"_Here they come!"_ shouted Tooriu, bringing up the _Awesome_'s arms.

Sheila brought up her 'Mech's right arm, with its over and under particle projection cannons. "Wait, wait," Sheila said, trying to keep her voice steady. Down the street came five Clan 'Mechs, moving at a lope like their Clan's namesake. She held her fingers over the triggers until she could stand it no longer. "Fire! Fire! Fire!"

Five azure bolts—two from the _Shruiken_ and three from the _Awesome_—leaped out at the Clan 'Mechs, followed closely by several dozen spiraling smoke trails, missiles from the two _Crusaders_. Most of the fire connected, and one of the Clansmen, a huge _Gladiator_, staggered under the impact of Tooriu's shots. Armor boiled away in a cloud of steam, but the Wolves kept coming.

"Keep shooting!" Sheila shouted, though she could feel the heat building up in her own 'Mech from the constant fire. The Wolves began to return fire, but the Sentinel lance was hunkered down behind rubble. Their fire was ineffective. When one of his 'Mechs, a medium _Fenris_, went down under yet another missile barrage, the Star Commander broke off his attack and sought cover. Sheila, sweat running off of her body in rivers despite the cooling vest she wore, let her 'Mech cool off a bit. Both sides now resorted to sniping at each other, more for moral effect than anything else. Sheila smiled grimly; she had halted the Wolves in this sector, at least. _That will change,_ she thought to herself. So far, what was left of the capital's guard—the 1st Drakons—was acting as a filter. When the Wolves finally crushed them, they would be able to flank the Sentinels' flimsy line, and there would be no stopping them. She was sure that her opposite number, down the block, was already calling for reinforcements. Sheila looked at the smoky sky. An airstrike was not out of the question, either.

"Sentinel Tango Echo One One, this is Tango Alpha Three, come in," her headset crackled. It sounded like the voice of Maximillian Canis-Vlata.

"One-three. Go."

"Sheila, this is Max. The Drakons just folded. You'd better fall back."

Sheila twisted the 'Mech's head around to look down the avenue. The firing had intensified, but she wasn't sure if it was coming towards her. "Wait one, Alpha Three." She quickly switched frequencies back to her lance channel. "Miko, could you take a quick look down Mansdotter Avenue for me?"

"Right," Miko replied. His _Crusader_ ran down the avenue a block or two, then turned and ran back. "Sheila, we've got Clan 'Mechs coming through down there."

"Shit. All right, Eaters, let's fall back to the overpass." She switched back to Max. "Max, we're outta here. Falling back to the Flyover."

"Roger, understood."

The Miraborg Flyover was three blocks behind them. The lance fell back as quickly as they could, and Sheila wondered when the Wolves would figure out that they were gone. She did not have long to wait. A _Dasher_ suddenly tore out of a side street, skidded on the concrete, and came right at her, spitting laserfire. The Clan 'Mech was well named for its incredible speed; it could literally run rings around a 'Mech like Sheila's _Shruiken_. However, it paid a price for it: the huge engine meant that it had only paper-thin armor. Sheila, keeping herself under control, ignored the ruby beams that sizzled armor from her 'Mech, carefully sighted, and fired two PPC blasts. Both caught the _Dasher_ high in the chest. Its forward momentum carried it a few more meters, then it crashed to the ground, smoking, virtually at her feet. The pilot was most likely still alive, and the 'Mech salvageable, but it would do nothing more in this battle. Sheila contemptously gave the prone 'Mech a kick that ripped off its thin arm, and kept walking back.

They had barely reached the Flyover when the Clan 'Mechs came at them again. This time the Sentinel 'Mechs did not have the benefit of cover, and the Wolves did not charge into the attack. Instead, they skillfully advanced in quick runs from building to building, keeping up a steady, and accurate, fire. Sheila shook her head in wonder as yet another laser shot hit her 'Mech. The Clanfolk were simply incredible shots, and they were hitting at ranges impossible for her to respond to.

_Something's not right here,_ she thought. _They're shooting at us, but they're not closing the range. Sure, they can take us apart at this range, but that's going to take time…unless they're just trying to keep our heads down…_

Too late she remembered the sky.

"Aerofighters, three o' clock!" yelled Miko Umcizi. From out of the sun, two Wolf fighters tumbled down like birds of prey. Sheila knew from terrible experience what the Clan aerofighters could do in a strafing run.

"_Get under the bridge!"_ she shouted. It meant getting closer to the Clan 'Mechs, but it was better than being ripped to pieces in the open. She quickly ducked her _Shruiken_ under the overpass, followed with surprising quickness by Tooriu's ponderous _Awesome_. Mimi Stykkis ran full speed to hunker down behind a ruined building, but Miko Umcizi stood fast, raising his arms to fire back at the diving Wolves.

"Miko, for God's sake get down!" Sheila screamed at him, but she was ignored. Miko was howling in kwaZulu at the Wolves, a war cry from his proud ancestors who had stood their ground against the British a millennia previously. He was young, proud, and frustrated at not being able to stop the enemy. Missiles shot towards the two Wolf fighters. One apparently was hit; it fluttered slightly and then broke off its attack. The other remained on target, however. It seemed to not notice the missile strikes, and then opened fire with a blistering amount of laserfire. The ground around Miko's _Crusader_ seemed to rise up around him as concrete was splintered and vaporized, then the 'Mech itself staggered under the fusillade. It got off another volley, then fell to one knee. Miko struggled to rise as the fighter howled past, then abruptly the entire upper portion of the _Crusader_ vanished in a fireball as its missile magazines went. The burning remnants fell to the ground.

Sheila didn't have time to mourn Miko's death, because the Wolf 'Mechs were on them. Now they charged with a savage howl: three 'Mechs, the _Fenris_, a heavier _Loki_, and a lighter _Puma_, while the huge _Gladiator_ covered them. Sheila leaned out from behind the overpass' gigantic pylon—a thick tube of concrete that held up a kilometer's worth of bridge—and snapped a few shots off. Both did some damage, but neither stopped the Wolves.

Mimi Stykkis, screaming and cursing incoherently, suddenly broke from cover and charged herself. Her long-range missile launchers were out of ammunition, but her leg-mounted short-range missiles and the lasers on her arms still were operational. She ran into the middle of the Clan charge, firing in every direction. The sudden and berserk countercharge brought the Wolves up short, killing their momentum as they stopped to deal with the maddened _Crusader_. Tooriu Kku stepped out and began landing PPC bolts, shrugging off return fire like they were annoying flies. His _Awesome_ was only slightly smaller than the _Gladiator_, and it was heavily armored.

Sheila fired at the _Gladiator_ to force it back behind the building, but the Clansman took the shot and fired back. Sheila yelped and ducked her 'Mech as a Gauss bullet whirred past where her head had been a split-second before. It caromed off the bottom of the overpass and gouged out a crater in the street below. A piece of concrete crashed down after it, and the entire overpass groaned alarmingly. It gave Sheila an idea.

"Tooriu!" she yelled. "Shoot the pylon!" She skipped backwards. Tooriu saw what she had in mind, turned in midstride, and blasted it with three PPC blasts. Sheila switched to her impressive array of lasers and hit the pylon at the same time. The pylon had already been weakened by other hits, but it resolutely did not crumble.

Tooriu did not hesitate. He ran the _Awesome_ forward to crash into the pylon. However, the assault 'Mech was slow—it was not designed to run from anything—and the Clan Star Commander, who apparently also realized what Sheila was attempting, sent the _Loki_ and the _Puma_ after the _Awesome_. Mimi and the _Fenris_ continued to exchange close range fire. 

Sheila sighted on the _Loki_ and swept her 'Mech's left arm in an arc, firing off a shower of the _Shruiken_'s namesake—two meter square throwing stars. They came apart when they struck the armor of the _Loki_ and sent spurts of clear liquid over its arms and chest. The liquid, jellylike Inferno fluid, ignited on contact with the air and turned the _Loki_ into a burning torch. The pilot staggered back from the fight, unable to fire lest he get fried alive in his cockpit.

The _Puma_ closed in on the _Awesome_, where its weapons would be more effective. Tooriu, however, abruptly turned, skillfully planted one huge foot, and seized the _Puma_ in the _Awesome_'s thick arms. His 'Mech outweighed the light Clan 'Mech nearly three to one; he tossed it bodily into the pylon. It groaned audibly in protest, deep fissures widened and ran upwards with terrifying speed, and the whole pylon collapsed onto one side. The overpass fell in the same direction, though the steel reinforcing beams held. As a result, the entire kilometer section crashed down as one piece onto its side.

The _Fenris_ nimbly skipped out of the way, but Mimi was not so lucky. The overpass slammed down on her _Crusader_'s legs, smashing them to unrecognizable junk. A dust cloud of titanic proportions rose all around them, coating every 'Mech with a fine coat of gray dust. The _Puma_ was buried underneath several tons of smashed concrete, but Tooriu's _Awesome_ stood proudly upright.

"You okay?" Sheila asked him.

"Oh, hell yeah," Tooriu laughed. "That's what the little bastard gets for charging me!" The fact that he had just killed another living being was something to worry about later.

"Okay!" Sheila said, smiling. The overpass now formed a rather nifty abatis. "Mimi, where are you?"

"I'm fine," Mimi said, her voice pained. "My 'Mech is a different story, however…"

Both Tooriu and Sheila went into the dust cloud. The _Crusader_ was pinned beneath the overpass. "You grab one arm and I'll grab the other," Sheila said quickly. With a screech of protesting metal, they pulled the upper torso of the 'Mech free and began to drag it back, towards the distant DropPort, where the Sentinel DropShips would be waiting.

"Tango Echo One One from Alpha One," came a new, authoritative voice over Sheila's earphones. It was her father and her commanding officer, Calla Bighorn-Vlata. "Sitrep."

"Alpha One, Tango Echo One," Sheila replied. "We're pulling back to the rally point. I've got one KIA and I'm dragging back a busted 'Mech with an okay MechWarrior."

"Tango Echo One, get the hell out of there. There's two Stars of Wolves bearing down on you from your right flank."

Sheila twisted around and checked one of her multifunction displays. The radar set into the earlike protrusions of her 'Mech's head was picking up the Clan 'Mechs. Her battered command of two and a half 'Mechs would not last very long. 

Mimi, listening in, had heard Calla's warning. Her own electronic equipment was telling her the same thing. "Sheila, take off."

"I'm not leaving you, Mimi!"

"Who said anything about leaving me? They're not going to bother with a wrecked 'Mech! I'll head towards the rally point on foot. You can pick me up on the fly!"

Sheila still wanted to protest; she had known Mimi since they were children. But she knew Mimi was right, though Sheila was not too sure they could come back for her. Still, she would try. "All right, Mimi, dammit. We'll be back before you know it."

"My transponder's frequency is 129.68 megahertz. I'll be running as fast as I can. Get clear, you two!"

Carefully, the two 'Mechs deposited the wrecked _Crusader_ against a building that was in not much better shape. Sheila wished she could see Mimi, but the _Crusader_'s viewport was too cracked and too small for her to see into. She waved anyway and then ran her 'Mech up to full speed, heading for the rally point. Already laser bolts had begun to range on her and Tooriu.

Mimi waited for a few minutes after she shut down. The Clan 'Mechs, not detecting any sign of life from her 'Mech, passed it by. When the thunder of their footfalls had faded, Mimi took a survival vest out of her storage locker, flicked on the transponder, and put it on. She grabbed a pistol and a grenade as well, then popped the hatch open, letting in the constant rumble of the battle and smoky air. She took one last look around at the place where she had spent the longest hours of her life—the last skirmish, the wild fifteen minutes of Persistence, the La Mancha scenario which now seemed so long ago and so petty. Then she climbed out of the _Crusader_'s head and dropped to the ground. Quickly, Mimi pulled the pin on the grenade and tossed it into the 'Mech's cockpit. The Wolves might salvage it, but they weren't going to get much use from it. It blew up with a satisfying bang, and Mimi sprinted into the gloomy twilight.


	2. A Friend In Need

_(Chapter Two of "Snowbird Ascendant." Enjoy...and remember to buy war bonds.)_

  
  
  


A last-ditch stand was being made by the 3rd Freemen and the remnants of the 1st Drakons at the perimeter of Rasalhague's DropPort. Many Rasalhagians had accepted the Sentinels' invitation to be evacuated, to fight the Clans again at a later time, but just as many had elected to fight the Wolves to the death.

The Sentinel lances sent out to cover the retreat were intermittently reporting in, but to Maximillian Canis-Vlata, things did not look good. Two of the lances had reported back in fair condition, including Max's own lance, but one lance had been decimated, with only Tessya Blackthorn's _Wasp_ staggering back to Sentinel lines, and a fourth lance had simply vanished. Nor had there been any contact with Sheila's Clan Eaters for ten minutes. Max cursed; the sacrifice of so many MechWarriors seemed to be so useless.

"Movement to our front!" yelled the MechWarrior of a Rasalhagian _Ostsol_.

Immediately the thin line readied for combat. Max's _Hatchetman_ hefted its namesake, a blunt wedge of steel. His autocannon had run out of ammunition hours before. The tension lasted a few more moments before Max recognized the distinctive profiles of the _Shuriken_ and the _Awesome_. "It's okay, they're ours!" Max shouted. The 'Mechs visibly relaxed.

Sheila and Tooriu parked their 'Mechs in the shadow of a DropShip and dismounted. Sheila shivered; the abbreviated uniform of a MechWarrior, absolutely necessary in the heat of a 'Mech cockpit, consisted only of kevlar shorts, cooling vest, and boots. Even in July, Rasalhague was cool. Max, also dismounting from his 'Mech, came over to them. "Where's the rest of the lance?" he asked.

"Miko Umcizi's dead. Mimi Stykkis is still out there." She opened the tote bag she had carried down from her cockpit. "I'm going after her."

"You'll never make it," Max protested. "That sector is crawling with Wolves. Your 'Mech is in pretty bad shape anyway."

"I'm not taking my 'Mech."

"How do you propose we do it then? Walk?"

Sheila stripped off her cooling vest and her shorts and stood in her underwear; modesty was something MechWarriors learned not to worry about in combat. She pulled on fatigues. "Tooriu, we're going to need some weapons."

"Done," Tooriu said, and dashed off. 

"Sheila, you still haven't answered my question." Max put his hands on his narrow hips. 

"I'm taking that." Sheila pointed to where a helicopter squatted on a pad a few yards away. It was a Seahawk, one of the newer versions of attack helicopter. The Seahawk could carry a few passengers as well as its normal crew of two.

Max almost asked if she was suicidal, but then gave it some thought. The Wolves would be concentrating on going after the Rasalhagians. They weren't likely to bother a single helicopter, as long as it remained unobtrusive. "Your dad isn't going to like this."

"I know. That's why I'm not telling him." Sheila looked at Max squarely. "Max, Mimi's alive. I'm not going to leave her behind."

Max smiled wanly. "I understand. If you're bad and you stay out late, why, I might just come after you."

She hugged him. "Thanks."

Tooriu arrived, still dressed in his MechWarrior gear and cradling a Ryonex submachinegun for her and a Federated light machinegun for himself. The Ryonex was a good weapon, reliable and known for its hardy construction; the LMG was likewise designed for hard use, but was not particularly light. Tooriu, who stood well over six feet tall and weighed a good two hundred pounds, all of it muscle, did not seem to strain carrying it or its ammunition drum. To Sheila's pleasant surprise, it did not take a lot of convincing for the Seahawk crew to agree to her request; they had been tracking down dispossessed MechWarriors all day. They did ask why two MechWarriors were going along, since it was normally the job of the Sentinels' elite Praxian Light Infantry to act as rescue personnel. Sheila answered that there was no time to find them, which was true: the Praxians were scattered along the line, most acting as forward spotters.

Sheila and Tooriu climbed into the cramped passenger compartment behind the stepped canopies of the crew. Max shouted at them over the whine of the engines. "We're pulling back to the DropShips in half an hour, if the Wolves don't hit us! So you'd better not be late!"

Sheila gave him a thumbs-up. The Seahawk rose into the air, retracted its landing gear, and roared off towards the city. Max watched it go for a moment, sighed, and headed back to his 'Mech.

  


Sheila told the pilot the transponder frequency. He found it fairly quickly, put the Seahawk's nose down, and got lower, hedgehopping the buildings. This area of the city was mostly residential flats, and only slightly damaged from the fighting. The nose turret of the Seahawk went from side to side as if sniffing the air, moved by the gunner, the twin machineguns never staying still for an instant. They closed in on the homing beacon.

  


Mimi Stykkis had made good time towards the front lines, encountering no one. Except for the distant rumble of battle, it was as if she was the only person left on Rasalhague. She had always been a good runner.

She heard the distant sound of a helicopter, and crouched in the shadow of a deserted flat. The Clans had not fielded helicopters to the best of her knowledge, but she didn't want to be the first person to encounter one. She looked up and saw the distinctive profile of the Seahawk, and, as it came closer, the Sentinel crest on the side of it. Grinning, she pulled a small flare out of her vest, twisted the top of it, and slapped the bottom hard. A red flare shot from the tip, high into the air, and then she ran out into the middle of the street, waving.

  


"Red flare at eleven o' clock low," the gunner reported.

"I see it. I see a MechWarrior, too. Looks like your friend, Lance Commander."

"It's her!" Even at this distance, Sheila could recognize Mimi. "Take us down!"

"Roger that—"

_"Oh, shit!"_ suddenly yelled the gunner. _"Elementals, left side!"_

  


Mimi saw the Seahawk settle at the tail as it came in to pick her up. Then she heard a new sound, one she recognized from training: the sound of a missile being launched. Her head whipped around as a missile sailed towards the helicopter. It fell short, but not before Mimi had seen who had launched it.

"Oh, God, no," she whispered. "Elementals."

Elementals were the Clans' specialized armored infantry. Encased in thick armor that made them resemble some sort of alien amphibian from a bad holovid—the reason why Elementals were often referred to as Toads by Inner Sphere warriors—Elementals were usually heavily armed with lasers and short-range missiles. Alone, they were not much threat to BattleMechs, but in numbers, which they almost always were, they could literally swarm and bring down a 'Mech like a group of army ants. Against regular infantry—or a single MechWarrior—they were lethal. Mimi began to run.

  


The Seahawk pilot saw Mimi run. "Get ready!" he shouted back to Sheila and Tooriu. "We'll have to pick her up on the fly!" He pushed the helicopter down to ten feet and came up behind Mimi. She stumbled in the rotorwash, but saw what the Seahawk pilot was trying to do, and turned around. Tooriu handed the light machinegun to Sheila, braced himself against the open door of the helicopter, and held out his powerful arms. Mimi grabbed them.

The Elementals had also seen what was happening. They ignited their jump packs and rapidly closed the distance. As one alighted on a flat, she leveled her arm laser and fired at the Seahawk's vulnerable rotor head. She missed, but the shot still melted armor from the fuselage.

The pilot saw two other Elementals come down, rearing back to fire their missiles. "We've gotta get out of here!" He hauled back on the collective, and the Seahawk rose into the air. Mimi tried to hold on to Tooriu, but the sudden climb threw them both off, and she lost her grip.

Sheila saw that the Seahawk crew was not going to get another chance to pick up Mimi—the Elementals were simply too close. Reacting quickly, which is to say without thinking, she hugged the light machinegun to her chest and jumped out the open door.

It was a good six foot drop, but Sheila had majored in gymnastics at the Nagelring. She dropped the machinegun and rolled to her feet next to a sputtering Mimi.

  


"Dammit to hell!" Tooriu cursed. "Sheila just jumped out!"

The pilot added his own blistering curses, most of them directed at Sheila. "She's the fraking commander's daughter—we can't leave her!" He rolled the Seahawk around on its axis as the gunner acquired a target for the Seahawk's main armament, a large laser slung alongside. A ruby beam impaled one of the Elementals in mid-leap, swatting it back to the ground. This drew a fusillade of return fire, blasting more armor from the helicopter. The pilot moved out of range and called for help.

  


Sheila quickly picked up the machinegun and braced herself against the ground as an Elemental ran towards them. It raised its right arm, which ended in a clawlike hand and had a machinegun mounted underneath it. Sheila fired, fighting the recoil that inexorably threw off her aim. It was good enough, however, as the heavy rounds knocked the Elemental off its feet.

Mimi pulled Sheila to her feet. "You came back!" she said.

"Ye of little faith." A missile lofted at the Seahawk came down twenty yards away and blew the front off of a store. Both MechWarriors ducked. "We're still gonna be a day late and a kroner short if we don't move!"

They had barely taken a step when Sheila felt Mimi's hand tighten convulsively on her shoulder. "Sheila, the Elemental!"

Sheila turned around. The Elemental had rents in its armor from the machinegun, but it was on its feet and walking towards them, again bringing the gun to bear. Sheila leveled her own weapon and fired. Three bullets impacted the suit, staggering it, and then a grinding sound came from her machinegun. Sheila checked it. "Jammed," she growled. "Why me? Why does this happen to me?"

She looked up. The Elemental armor's viewslit was V-shaped, and polarized, so Sheila could not be sure if the Clan warrior was actually looking at her. It seemed to understand what the problem was, and lowered its arm. Instead, it lumbered forward, and with a dry mouth, Sheila realized the Elemental was going to kill her with its bare hands. Mimi was stumbling backwards, her eyes rounded in fear.

The Elemental reached its claw forward, either to strangle Sheila or snatch the gun away from her. Sheila moved her hands quickly to grip the machinegun's barrel, whipped it around, and smashed it against the Elemental's squat head. The impact did little damage to the suit or its occupant, but it surprised the Elemental, who lost footing, did a crazy pirouette, and crashed through the front door of a flat. The appearance of the building was decieving; it had actually been gutted by a fire set by looters. The whole building shook and then fell in on top of the Elemental.

Sheila doubted that even that would hurt the Elemental much, but she was not going to wait around to test her theory. Instead, she dropped the ruined machinegun—its barrel was now twisted—and grabbed Mimi. "Let's go!"

They ran forward. Above them, the Seahawk continued to cover them as best it could, sweeping its laser from left to right. It seemed to be working; the Elementals were keeping their distance, because a large laser could hurt them. Sheila thought she saw another Seahawk in the distance, and both she and Mimi sprinted towards it.

Neither saw the Elemental until it stepped out of an alley.

The Elemental's Star Commander knew that the helicopter had only a limited field of vision—its crew could only look in so many directions at once. With this in mind, the Star Commander had sent a few of her troops in circuitous routes around the buildings. Most were still there, trying to figure out the unfamiliar alleyways and streets, but this Elemental had been lucky.

Mimi had already pulled her pistol from her vest, cursing herself earlier for not using it against the Elemental Sheila had fought. She had actually gone past the Elemental, but Sheila's scream of warning caused her to turn around, bringing up the pistol. The Elemental did not even fire its weapons; it merely swung the laser arm around, catching Mimi in mid-turn. There was the heavy, wet snap of bone breaking, and Mimi was catapulted into the nearest wall. She slid down, limp as a discarded doll.

Sheila felt fear crawl up her throat, but the sight of her friend suddenly replaced the fear with white-hot rage. She let loose a blood-chilling war cry at the Elemental, her right hand drawing her own pistol. Unlike Mimi's nine-millimeter service pistol, Sheila's was an ancient revolver, a forty-four caliber.

The Elemental twisted around to face her, but Sheila already had the pistol aimed. She was less than a meter away; one step forward and the pistol's muzzle would have been touching the Elemental's faceplate. She fired three times. The heavy Magnum bullets splintered the faceplate first, and then the Elemental's skull. It fell backwards into the alley, though the momentum of its swinging laser arm carried through and glanced off Sheila's head. The Elemental and the MechWarrior hit the ground at the same time, the difference being that Sheila was still alive.

Sheila got to her hands and knees woozily. Her head felt like it was going to come off her shoulders and take flight, and everything seemed very quiet for some reason. Slowly, she crawled over the fallen Elemental and reached Mimi, shaking her gently.

Mimi lay full on her back, and she was still breathing. Her eyes opened and unsteadily came around to rest on Sheila. "Sheila? You okay? You're bleeding a little."

Sheila felt the blood trickling down her face. "It's nothing. Are you all right?"

Mimi blinked. "I think so." She rose up on her elbows, and looked down at herself, puzzled. "That's funny. I can't feel my legs. They worked fine a minute ago." She looked over to Sheila, tried to shrug, and then her eyes rolled back into her head and Mimi collapsed.

Sheila shook Mimi again, hoping she'd wake up. Sheila felt entirely detached from the whole scene, a state of curious befuddlement. She never saw two more Elementals running towards her from behind. Nor did she see the lake of Lyran steel that formed a hatchet, which scythed down the Elementals, or the other BattleMechs that backed Max Canis-Vlata's _Hatchetman_ in clearing the area of Elementals.

Sheila felt a strong hand on her shoulder and looked up into the face of Tooriu Kku. "Hi, Tooriu," she said, as if they were meeting on a street on Tharkad or Grunwald, and not the ruins of Rasalhague City.

He grinned down at her and thumbed over his shoulder, to where two Seahawks waited. "You hailed a cab, ma'am?"

"I'll have to leave a big tip," she grinned back, and then she passed out.


	3. A Friend Indeed

_JumpShip SJS _Slanderscree IV, _Nadir Jump Point_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_19 July 3050_

  


Sheila Arla-Vlata felt very warm and content. The room was warm, and the sheets were even warmer, nice and soft. She smelled the familiar scent of her own bed. That sudden realization made her come awake with a start.

She tried to sit up, but a hand gently pressed her back into the covers. "Easy, Sheila," a authoritative and familiar voice said. "You've had a rough time of it."

"Dad?" Sheila looked up and saw the faces of her parents, sitting on either side of her bed. Her father, Calla Bighorn-Vlata, smiled down at her with his old easy grin. She thought he looked very good for a man nearly fifty years old, despite graying hair and increasing weight that Calla was losing a battle to control. He adjusted his glasses self-consciously. The glasses made many people underestimate Calla, which was a mistake, because he was a skilled MechWarrior, organizer, and tactician. The Sentinels had been his brainchild, and he had formed them from the pitiful remnants of two lances into the regiment they were today.

Sheila's mother, Arla, leaned in and brushed the hair away from Sheila's face. The daughter took after her mother most of all, both sharing coal-black hair and brilliant green eyes, though Sheila had inherited her father's height. Arla was younger than Calla and kept herself in better shape, her lithe body still showing few signs of her long and difficult life as commander of the Praxian Light Infantry, named for the planet where most of them hailed from. Some signs of age had inevitably begun to creep in: the crows' feet around the eyes and hair shot through with gray as Calla's was.

Sheila winced as a tendril of pain seemed to roll down her head. "Where am I?"

"On the _Slanderscree IV,_" Arla replied. Sheila kicked herself mentally; the gravity should have given that away. "Take it easy, daughter. You were wounded."

"Ow. I believe it."

"You're lucky, Sheila—real lucky," Calla added. "Apparently that Elemental smacked you as he was going down. You had a severe concussion and we thought your skull had been cracked. Lucky for you that you inherited the Vlatas' thick heads."

"Am I okay now?"

"You were out cold a few days, but the docs said if you woke up today you'd be all right. You're awake, so I guess you are."

Sheila felt a bit of a lump on the side of her head. She sat up straight and instantly regretted it; she felt as if dwarf miners in her brain had just decided to start drilling. She also noticed that she wore only a pair of cotton panties and a Victorian nightshirt, which was made out of a sheer material that hid absolutely nothing. She sank back beneath her covers. "How's Mimi?"

Calla and Arla looked at each other for a moment, and then Calla looked back to Sheila. He decided to blunt. "She survived, Sheila. But maybe it would be better if she hadn't."

"How can you _say_ that?" Sheila glared at her father.

"I have to." Calla could be harsh when he wished. "Her back was broken. She has no feeling in her legs."

"You mean she's a paraplegic?"

Calla nodded. "Possibly. The reason I say possibly is because she does have some feeling in her thighs. With some time and therapy, she might be able to hobble around, but I should warn you that there's not much chance of that. She'll never pilot a 'Mech again, though."

Sheila almost shot back that only a MechWarrior would prefer to die rather than to never get back in the cockpit, but she stopped herself. Sheila wasn't sure if she felt that way herself, and she knew Mimi did. Mimi Stykkis was a very physical person; her nights at the Nagelring had consisted of a lot of partying and very little studying, and part of her income had come from nights moonlighting as a dancer—an exotic dancer. Sheila wondered if her friend could survive the torment of knowing she might never do any of those things ever again. "Can I see her?"

"No, not right now. She's still in intensive care." Arla checked her watch. "Calla, we had better be going if we're going to meet with General Hasek-Davion." She bent down and kissed Sheila on the forehead. "The medtechs say you can get up and move around. No gymnastics, though."

"Right." Sheila kissed her father on the cheek and watched them leave. She sighed, waited for her headache to subside a little, then got out of bed. The stateroom was not very big, but it was enough for her. She stretched a little, then began going through a t'ai chi routine, which she had picked up at the Nagelring. It was usually very relaxing for her, and Sheila could not help but smile at her profile in the mirror. She was rapidly losing the gawkiness she had been cursed with through school and was maturing into a grown woman. Her black hair was tangled and not caught up in her customary ponytail, so it was wild across her back and shoulders. Her muscle tone was still very feminine, though she wished her arms were not so skinny. _You've got a nice body there, Sheila,_ she grinned at her reflection. _Too bad you don't have anyone to share it with…_

Tooriu Kku, as if bidden, walked into her stateroom and shut the door behind him. "Hey, looking good for a wounded heroine."

Sheila yelped, tried to take his head off with a high kick, and dived back under her covers. "Damn you, Kku!" she snarled. "Didn't your mother ever tell you to knock? Especially on young women's doors?"

Tooriu leaned up against the wall. "Nope. Garuda's a free love society. Besides, most women _wanted _ me not to knock. Including you, as I recall."

"Oh, screw you."

"We already did that." He leered at her.

Sheila wanted to stay angry at Tooriu, but even the most hard-bitten person would find that difficult. Finally she gave in and began giggling. Tooriu joined in with booming male laughter. "You!" she said, and tossed a pillow at him. "I needed that laugh."

"Me too. You heard about Mimi?"

"Yeah."

Tooriu sighed. "That sucks, man. Just sucks. We're getting creamed by these Clan bastards. Rasalhague's gone, too. Fell three hours after we left."

"We'll stop them," Sheila reassured him.

"Where? Terra?" He got up, accidentally pulling the covers with him in his bunched fists. They fell away, exposing Sheila's lace-covered breasts before she pulled the covers back up again. Tooriu smiled again. "Not much point in that, Sheila. I've seen them before—with and without that shirt."

"I know." Sheila felt a brief twinge between her legs with the memory. For three short, sweet, and torrid months, she had Tooriu Kku had been lovers—Sheila's first, though not Tooriu's, who had something of a reputation as a ladykiller. Both had tried to convince themselves that they were in love, but by graduation they knew for certain that they were not. They had parted friends, and remained close, but neither had attempted to restart the sexual portion of their relationship. Now Sheila recognized the old smoldering glance that had once made her ache with desire for Tooriu, and though she felt her body more than willing to respond to that glance—with the exception of her still-aching skull—she knew that the complications that would bring would outweigh the physical gratification.

Tooriu saw the play of emotions across her eyes and looked away. He wanted Sheila, but understood how she felt, and inwardly agreed with her. They could not recapture what they had once been, before they crossed the barrier that the first battle on Persistence had formed. They were different people now, and Tooriu wasn't sure if that was good or bad. What was more, he had already kindled a relationship with his company commander, Elfa Brownoak-Vlata, who was distantly related to Sheila's family. Though she was significantly older than Tooriu, she brought to the bed skill that Sheila or anyone else Tooriu had slept with never possessed. Tooriu knew he would have slipped under Sheila's covers to please her, to take away the hurt of Mimi's crippling for her sake, not his, but he also knew he would return to Elfa's bed at the nearest opportunity. He hated himself for it.

"I hate to be the bearer of bad tidings," he said into the silence, "but Cathy Houndlikov wants to see you. She's not a happy MechWarrior."

Sheila groaned. "Oh, no. The Iceberg is _never_ a happy MechWarrior. If she ever cracked a smile, I'd have a heart attack. She's the biggest cast-iron bitch in the Inner Sphere outside of Romano Liao."

"I agree, but she's also your company commander—not mine, thank Deity—and she wants to see you, now. I didn't come here just to look at your boobs, though that was kind of a nice surprise. Thanks."

"You're welcome, you lech. Clean up your drool from my carpet and take off so I can get dressed. I'll see you later at chow. Assuming of course, I still have an ass to sit on."

"Now I won't hear anything bad about your ass, Sheila."

"_Out!"_ She tossed the other pillow at him. 

  


Sheila was not surprised when Catherine Houndlikov glowered at her when the younger MechWarrior walked in. Long ago, Catherine might have been considered beautiful, but twenty years in a 'Mech cockpit and in command had worn away at her face until it was a shadow of what it had been. She and Arla Bighorn-Vlata were the same age, but Catherine looked older. Her shock of russet hair, however, had very little gray in it, and was caught up in a ponytail—a look that Sheila unconciously echoed. Her topaz eyes flicked down to a report on a laptop, and she went back to working on it. As two minutes ticked by, Sheila almost thought that the Iceberg—Houndlikov was called that because her acerbic tongue did to people's egos what icebergs did to ocean liners—had forgotten her. Almost.

"Sheila," Catherine began gently, not looking up—a sure sign that Sheila was well and truly in for it—"you did a very, very brave thing on Rasalhague. Going back for a lancemate." She looked up and patted a Bible that rested on her desk in the spartan stateroom. "The Good Book tells us that no greater love hath no man who lays down his life for his friends."

Suddenly a bony finger came up and stabbed in Sheila's direction, and Catherine jumped to her feet. "However, you _may_ notice that it doesn't say lay down thy _lance,_ does it, _Lance Commander_ Arla-Vlata! You risked the life of Kku and those two insane Seahawk crewmen just so you could go back for your friend! And then, another lance had to be mobilized to come get you! That hero bullshit works in vids, Arla-Vlata, but not in real life!" Sheila withstood the vocal gale, remaining at attention. Sooner or later, Catherine always wound down.

"If you had gotten your stupid, pretty little ass killed, I'd have been out a lance commander as well as three MechWarriors! Good God, I've got lances running on two 'Mechs out of four now. It was brave, Arla-Vlata, but it was also _stupid!_ Unbelievably stupid! The only reason Max came after you was because he has some feelings for you, the poor fool, because you guys are second cousins or something, and the only reason the Seahawk stuck around was because you're Calla's daughter! You are an insult to your company, your battalion, your regiment, your family, and your gender!" Catherine punctuated each statement by smashing her fist on the desk, making the laptop and the lamps jump. "Using your father's influence to get what you want—that _really_ pisses me off, Arla-Vlata. I thought you were above that. I guess not. You're a fucking idiot, Arla-Vlata." She sat down, her eyes never leaving Sheila's. "Maybe it would have been better to leave Mimi to the Clans. At least then, your father wouldn't be looking around to find a decent guy to be her legs."

Sheila's temper blew. Forgetting rank and seniority, Sheila practically leapt across the desk, slamming both palms down on either side of the laptop, baring her teeth practically in Catherine's face. "_Go to hell, Houndlikov!"_ she railed. "Were you there? Did you suck dirt like the rest of us? Did you see Miko Umcizi buy the farm because he was so damn frustrated that he had to stand up and fight? Did you watch while your friend got her back smashed? _No, you fucking didn't!_ You were sitting on your ass on the _Slanderscree IV_ reading Vogue! Not that it does you any good!

"I did my best, Major. I'm sorry it wasn't good enough, but at least I tried. I never wanted to be a fucking lance commander, anyway. 'Lance commander.' Huh! I didn't have a damn lance left—just me and Tooriu. So you know, I decided to try and save a portion of it. I'm sorry as hell that Mimi got hurt, but at least I tried to help. Maybe I saved her life, I don't know—maybe the Clans gun their prisoners. That Elemental was going to kill both of us. At least Mimi has a chance at something. And if I used my position as my father's daughter to save a life, guilty as charged. I didn't do it for me. I did it for Mimi. And if I screwed the pooch, that's my karma. I had to do _something!_ Where the hell do you get off giving me shit for it! You can go and—"

"Sheila, that's enough." Catherine's voice, as gentle as it got, shocked Sheila into silence. "You've made your point. Sit down. Please." Sheila, still fuming, sat in a chair across from Catherine. "Sheila, I baited you on purpose. The Sentinels aren't lavish with ranks or titles—we're not some fracking House Guard unit or something. We're common mongrel bastards, the lot of us. You also weren't the first choice I had for commanding the 13th Light Dragoons after Yoriyoshi Kazikawa retired after Persistence, may he roast in hell. You're a maverick, Sheila. You do things your own way, and common sense be damned. You remind me of…well…me, actually. I was a young smartass Lance Commander once too, Sheila, who thought my company CO was a moron. You stupid kids may think I that I came screaming out of my mother with major's stripes on, but I didn't. I made mistakes and got my ass chewed too."

"You're saying that saving Mimi was a mistake." Sheila made it a statement, not a question.

"No. I'm saying the way you went about it was. Next time use your damn brain. It's not padding for your head, you know. Anyway, here. Happy Birthday." Catherine reached into the desk and tossed a felt case the size of a book to Sheila. Sheila, confused, opened the case, and gasped.

It consisted of a nine-point star made of solid gold, with a silver fist of House Steiner and a platinum sword-and-sunburst of House Davion in the center, the emblem of the Federated Commonwealth. It hung on a golden chain, with a clasp done in the shape of a BattleMech, indicating the branch of service it was awarded to.

"The Commonwealth Star is the second-highest award the FedCom gives, Sheila. You'll receive the award formally at a later date from whatever high mucky-muck the Steiner-Davions send out—Prince Hanse himself, or Archon Melissa, for all I know. But trust me, the paperwork's already been approved. Again, I apologize for baiting you, but I had to prove to myself that you weren't trying to be Little Miss Heroine. If you had been, I would have simply kicked your tail up between your shoulders and been done with it. I still think it was a dumb, stupid stunt." Catherine Houndlikov smiled, and Sheila actually did feel her heart skip a beat. "But here's the funny thing—I received the Order of Davion for throwing my _Griffin_ in front of my lancemate when an _Atlas_ opened up on us. So stupidity is a disease of the youth." The smile disappeared so fast that Sheila wondered if it had been her imagination. "There's a new op in the works, Sheila. I don't know what or where, but they've formed a special committee made up of young pups with field experience. You're on it. Don't argue. Be at the Sudeten AFFC headquarters tomorrow at 0800. Dismissed." She stood and saluted. Sheila, still in a state of shock, returned it. She turned around and began to walk out.

"Sheila," Catherine said, exasperated. "Put the frigging medal on. That's what it's for, you know." Sheila did as she was told as she left the office.

She turned to head back to her room. Tooriu came up behind her, and she could feel his eyes ostentatiously checking her behind. "I see that sweet young ass is still there. The Iceberg didn't rip too many inches out, then."

"You should see what she did to my neck." She turned around slowly to face a befuddled Tooriu, basking in the fact that she had rendered him speechless.


	4. Find a Way to Win

_AUTHOR'S NOTES: Someone actually reviewed this story recently, and reminded me that I have a terrible tendency to leave stories unfinished here on No excuse with this story, since I finished it a long time ago. So here's more of the Snowbird Saga; enjoy and R&R, please._

_Sudeten Operations Area Headquarters_

_Sudeten, Tamar March, Federated Commonwealth_

_20 July 3050_

"Twycross?" Sheila whispered. "Why there? I mean, aside from the fact that it has a big 'Mech factory."

"It's a hellhole. I've been there. Constant dust storms, huge hurricanes…what they call dust devils other planets call tornadoes." Max Canis-Vlata leaned back in his chair. "Anyhow, that's the rumor." He looked around the room. The two of them were early, and they were the only ones there. It was a windowless, ferrocrete chamber, in which ten chairs were gathered around a table and a circular holotank. "Sheila, why are we here? We're nobody."

"I don't know, Max. Maybe somebody doesn't think so. We do have more experience than most people against the Clans. We've fought 'em twice, on Persistence and Rasalhague. Most units have only fought the Clans once."

"Mainly because they didn't survive it," Max observed dryly.

"Just hope we're not window dressing."

The door opened, and Victor Steiner-Davion walked in, followed by Kai Allard-Liao, Morgan Hasek-Davion, and Christian Kell. Victor and Kai were the same age—nineteen—as Sheila and Max, whereas Christian was in his late twenties, and Morgan a contemporary of their fathers'. Both Sheila and Max jumped to attention, feeling very, very unimportant. Victor Steiner-Davion was heir to the throne of the Federated Commonwealth, and could one day be very possibly the most powerful man in the Inner Sphere. Kai Allard-Liao was also an heir, though to the tiny St. Ives Compact, and his father was the head of the FedCom's intelligence service. Morgan Hasek-Davion was the commanding officer of the entire Armed Forces of the Federated Commonwealth. Christian Kell was merely a major in the service of his uncle's regiment, the famous Kell Hounds, but his father was the legendary Patrick Kell, regarded as one of the ten best MechWarriors in history.

Victor came around the table and shook hands with Max, then hugged Sheila fiercely. "How the hell are you guys?" he gushed. "We heard the Sentinels got in it on Persistence, and I wondered if you two had made it!" He stepped back and looked at Sheila's Commonwealth Star with a grin. "Damn. You move pretty fast, classmate."

Sheila smiled back. "We heard you were in the crap on Trellwan, too. Glad to hear you made it out." Sheila and Max had both attended the Nagelring in the same class as Victor, the Class of 3050. Max did not know the young prince very well, but Sheila had struck up a friendship with him. Victor had kept himself aloof from most of his class, not wanting to get by on the strength of his name, nor wanting sycophants. Still, when pitted against Victor, many students had lost deliberately either in a vain attempt to curry favor or in fear, though Victor had won most of his scenarios by skill. Sheila, however, had beaten Victor soundly, and treated him like any other student. She too had been aloof, but not by choice—mercenary daughters were not popular at a high-class academy like House Steiner's Nagelring. The two had gotten to be friends because neither had too many to begin with. Sheila had to mask the fact that she once had nursed a terrible crush on the prince, though at six feet, she towered over Victor, who stood only five foot four.

Kai too walked over to shake hands warmly with both of them. Max knew Kai better; both had done a semester at the New Avalon Military Academy in Davionspace, though they knew each other only because they had fleeting contact in shared classes. Morgan and Christian were more professional in their greetings.

They took their seats. Max turned to Kai. "Have you been in action yet, Kai?"

"Not yet. Probably not for awhile, either. My 'Mech was held up in transit. If we go into action anytime soon, I'll guess I'll have to watch." He tried to make it a joke, but it came out flat. No MechWarrior liked to be dispossessed, even for a short time, and Kai, whose birthright seemed a burden on him, wanted to uphold the honor of his family.

"I told you not to worry about it," Victor said. "I'll get you a 'Mech. It won't be your daddy's _Centurion_, but at least you'll have a 'Mech."

"Take a _Hatchetman_," Max suggested. "I used one on Rasalhague, and it's pretty good. No long-range missiles like your _Centurion_, but that hatchet makes up for it at close range." Max sighed. "Though it's not as good as a _Battlemaster_."

Sheila felt sorry for Max. He had received his mother's assault 'Mech as a graduation present, then had it shot out from under him on Persistence. The depression of Max and Kai hung like a blanket over that side of the table, but then the general attitude was grim.

"Everybody here?" Morgan Hasek-Davion said. He was a big man, well-built with a mane of red hair. He consulted his notes, made a few marks, and looked up again. "Good. Lance Commander Arla-Vlata, Lance Commander Canis-Vlata, you're probably wondering what you're doing here. We've come up with the idea of a Junior Officers' Strategy Group to find some ways of dealing with the Clans. The sad fact is, the tactics we've been using for years aren't even slowing them down. So we've got to come up with new ones. The problem is, a lot of us old farts—" the joke brought a gale of laughter "—tend to be set in our ways. Hence, the need for new blood.

"The two of you may not feel like much, being around all these titles and ranks and stuff. Don't worry about it." He took off his uniform jacket and tossed it nonchalantly on a chair next to him. "We're not wearing any rank in this room. I'm not General Hasek-Davion, I'm Morgan. We don't have time for 'Your Grace,' 'Your Highness,' and all that. And there's the plain fact that the two of you have more experience than anyone else in this room. With the exception of Victor, you're the only ones who have actually fought the Clans, and you're the only ones, without exception, who have fought them twice. So don't be shy. The purpose of the JSOG is to come up with new ideas and tactics. No matter how off the wall or screwed-up they might seem. Clear?"

"Yes, sir," Sheila and Max answered at the same time.

"I said, don't call me sir. Call me Morgan." He grinned at them. "I've met your parents. They don't smooch ass, so don't you start." He checked his notes again. "We've got two things on the agenda today. The first is offensive moves against the Clans, as in, where do we counterattack? The second is, countermeasures, so that when we do counterattack, we win." He punched a key on the holotank. A map of the Inner Sphere's coreward sector, where the Clans had struck, rezzed into life. The younger MechWarriors remembered their cartographical lessons at the Nagelring and at NAMA; there, a coreward map would consist of mostly yellow for the Federated Commonwealth, red for House Kurita's Draconis Combine, and in the middle the purple of the Free Rasalhague Republic. There were also realms on the Inner Sphere's Periphery, usually marked in gray, consisting of various independent republics, freeholds, and pirate havens.

The Periphery realms were gone. Moving into the larger realms was a multicolored wedge that had turned the roughly circular Inner Sphere into a fat crescent. Morgan pulled out a collapsible pointer and touched various points of the holomap. "Green for the Jade Falcons, brown for the Wolves, light blue for the Ghost Bears, and gray for the Smoke Jaguars. That's the four Clans we've identified. We don't know if there's more of them.

"So far, we've lost most of Trellshire, on the line Newtown Square-Blackjack-Twycross-Mozrije. Most of our losses have come from the Jade Falcons, though the Wolves have taken a hell of a bite out of us, too. Not as much as they've done to Rasalhague, though. They took Rasalhague, as you know. They didn't get the FRR's President or most of the Riksdat, but we think they may have captured or killed General Mansdotter, the Kungsarme commander. If that's true, I don't know how long the FRR's going to be able to hold. The Combine's taken a hit, too, mostly from the Bears and the Jaguars." Morgan leaned across the table, laying the pointer flat. "The Jags haven't had everything their own way, though. Apparently a lot of the Combine worlds overrun now have significant resistance movements. We've learned one of them on Turtle Bay managed to smuggle Hohiro Kurita offworld, after he was captured."

Sheila saw Victor blanch. He had come within a hairsbreadth of being captured himself, and it was unsettling to know that the Combine had nearly lost their heir. "Bully for them," Sheila said.

"Kind of. After Hohiro escaped, the Jaguars lost it. They razed most of Turtle Bay's cities to the ground, using orbital bombardment. Nuclear weapons."

"Holy shit," Max breathed. Nuclear weapons had not been used in the Inner Sphere since the First Succession War. They had been more or less banned by the Ares Conventions, and no nation had dared to use them since the horrors of the early Succession War period. The Clans, apparently, had no such qualms. "How are we going to stop that? If they're just going to nuke us if we win, what's the point?"

"We have to try," Morgan replied. "Let's toss out possibilities for a counterattack. Nothing huge; we're not planning Normandy here. Let's settle for Sicily."

"Well," Kai began, "there are several possibilities on a wide front like this. I'd say Blackjack. It's close to the front, we've got units pretty close already, and there's an active resistance on the world."

"Or so we've heard," Victor replied. "That was two weeks ago. The Jade Falcons might have already run them down."

Morgan Hasek-Davion held up a hand. "People, let's just get some ideas going. We can pick them apart later."

Victor spoke up. "I'd go with Twycross. There's a 'Mech factory there, and we need that back. The bad weather will give us a better chance against their range advantage. It's close to the front, and there's an active resistance there, too. Besides that, the Clan garrison is not likely to be enjoying their stay. It might lead to a drop in morale that we can exploit." There were a few nods around the table.

"Blackjack and Twycross then," Morgan said. "Anyone else?"

"Planting," Sheila said. She reached over and took Morgan's pointer. "Can I borrow this? Thanks. Planting's an agriculturally rich planet, lots of water—a good supply base. And if we take it, we'll be like a machinegun in a shopping cart."

"A what?" At least four of them asked the question.

"Able to point anywhere," Sheila explained. "It's like the central position in a Napoleonic sense. From there we can hit just about anywhere in Trellshire or the FRR."

"It's also a good distance behind the lines," Christian Kell said. "How do we keep it supplied?"

"Lots of ways. We can use uninhabited systems for supply caches and recharge points. We can use secondary operations to better secure lines of supply. For the time being, the force could live off the land. By being behind the lines, the Clans have to pull frontline units back to deal with us. That weakens their front line, and then we hit them there…it could have a snowball effect."

"I don't know about the living off the land," Victor said. "This isn't Napoleonic times. We can't live off the land anymore."

"I say we can," Sheila replied.

"You willing to risk your life on that?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

Morgan got to his feet. "Sheila, you've made your point. Planting would be a good choice—for a future operation. You're planning for a big operation with plenty of follow-ups. Right now, we can't do it. We're still rushing units to just stabilize the front. Maybe I should have clarified this better. What we're going for is more a spoiling attack than anything else. Get them reacting to us for a change, disrupt the pace of the offensive. Plus we've got to build up some morale on the home front. We've still got reputable publications saying that we're under alien invasion here—real 'War of the Worlds' stuff."

"I see," Sheila said. She handed the pointer back to Morgan. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be. It's a good plan, and we'll definitely keep it in mind. Any other suggestions?" There were none. "All right. Blackjack and Twycross then."

"What about a simutaneous attack?" Christian suggested. "Hit both at the same time."

"Not a bad idea, but the Prince wants to try and keep a two to one advantage in numbers if we can. This one on one stuff is eating us up."

Victor leaned forward. "How about this, then—one of the attacks is a feint, basically a raid. The second is the real thing. The Clans won't know which is which, and by the time they get solid information, we can consolidate."

"I like that," Sheila said. "They also won't know if this is the beginning of a counteroffensive. I don't think the Clans have very good intelligence. They always ask who's defending the world. Now it could be that they just are trying to see if we're lying, but I think they actually don't know. If they really are from beyond the known Periphery, they won't have the same kind of intelligence nets that the Houses do."

"I think Sheila's right," Max spoke up, for the first time. "When we were on Rasalhague, we intercepted some of the Wolves' transmissions. They seemed geniunely surprised that the Sentinels were onplanet. They also seemed kind of miffed—like it was a private war between them and the Kungsarme, and we were interfering."

Victor snapped his fingers. "Yeah, we ran into something like that on Trellwan, too. They don't use pack tactics like we do. They pick individual targets. If they outnumber a force, the rest of them hang back until a target is available. Even when we gang up on a target, they don't. That's cost them a couple of 'Mechs. That's a huge advantage for us if we can exploit it. The trouble is, by the time we close in on them, they've already ripped us up at long range."

"The Wolves didn't do that on Rasalhague," Sheila said to Max. "They tried to gang-bang Mimi Stykkis." Her cheeks colored when she realized what she had said, but the others merely nodded, understanding the MechWarrior euphemism for pack tactics. Sheila realized she actually _had_ forgotten the weight of brass in the room, and merely saw Hasek-Davion, Kell, and the others as fellow MechWarriors. It was almost as if they were talking over a beer in a bar.

"They might be adapting to us, too," Morgan said. "The Wolves seem to be a bit less traditional than the other Clans. God knows they certainly seem to be more willing to chance things. Rasalhague was a planet I wouldn't have wanted to try on." He leaned back in his chair. "This is good stuff. Let's get down to brass tacks. How do we win?" He looked over at Christian. "Chris, give the cafeteria a call. We're going to be here awhile."


End file.
